


Clint/Coulson 46 - Crackers

by tisfan



Series: Stocking Stuffers [21]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, crackers, tony goes overboard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Aw, crackers, no...So, it turns out, you don't eat 'em...





	Clint/Coulson 46 - Crackers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luniana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luniana/gifts).



“What is this?” Clint wiggled around a tube, covered in wrapping paper that bore a suspicious resemblance to a large hard candy.

It had been placed at the top of his plate, like it was part of the ridiculously large number of forks, spoons, tongs, and other eating implements. There were so many that Clint was considering eating with his fingers. Including gravy and cranberry salad. Mostly so that he could avoid trying to figure out which damn fork he was supposed to be using, and partially because it would get a laugh from Stark, and probably the stink eye from Nat.

There were worse things he could do to annoy his teammates.

Also, if his table manners were appalling, then no one would notice that Bruce kept the same fork in his hand the entire meal and was desperately hoping no one would comment.

“Christmas cracker,” Phil said.

Clint turned the gaudy thing over his hand a few times. “Aw, cracker, no,” he said. “I thought it was something to eat, you know, like those little white octagons puffs that you put in oyster soup.”

“It’s more of a British thing than an American thing,” Phil said. “But Stark and Cap were waxing nostalgic about Peggy Carter recently, and Cap mentioned she’d had crackers at her Christmas party one year, during the war, and…”

“It’s Stark, and he went overboard,” Clint guessed. “So, I can’t eat it?”

“There’s not usually anything edible in a cracker, it’s like a toy and a paper hat, and a fortune. Although knowing Stark--”

Phil might have been planning to say more; hard to tell. Cap had offered one end of his cracker to Sam and it fucking exploded.

Confetti and glitter rained over everything, accompanied by a puff of colored smoke.

Which Stark should totally have known better, since now there were six highly aggravated and armed people surrounding the table in various states of high alert.

Oddly enough, Bruce was still calmly making progress through his mashed potatoes, not even looking up. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so odd, Bruce had spent a lot of time with Stark in the lab recently, and maybe he’d been part and parcel of the whole Tony-goes-overboard-for-the-holiday package.

After Sam managed to keep Cap from knocking over the table in shock, they examined the contents of their cracker; a miniature pinball game with actual sounds and lights, a shiny gold bracelet with a number of Avenger symbol charms dangling from it, a replica of Loki’s horned helmet that Sam immediately put on his head and made googly eyes at Thor until the God of Thunder burst out in uproarious laughter, and a joke that made Cap snort eggnog out his nose.

Clint reached across the table to read it, but Cap just shook his head, blushing furiously, and tucked the little piece of paper into his pocket.

Phil offered Clint a cracker-end. “Want to see?”

“Hell yes,” Clint said. He tugged the end and the resulting explosion did not cause Nat to smack him upside the head, so he was going to come out ahead, he was pretty sure.

A tiny replica of Cap’s shield, which actually flew around, although its trajectory was even more random than Cap’s actual shield (which totally defied most of the laws of physics and all of the suggestions) and eventually ended up being snagged out of the air by Bucky, who sat on it.

Clint decided not to demand the return.

A purple cape that Phil draped over his shoulders with a smirk. “What do you think? It’s my color?”

“I think that’s _my_ color,” Clint protested. Somehow he was getting the short end of the stick, here. There was a tiny wind up dinosaur that shook its head from side to side and marched around in a little circle, which was, hey, kinda cool, actually.

Clint smacked his hand down over the fortune/joke before Phil snagged it.

He unfolded the paper in the palm of his hand.

_Just kiss him, idiot._

That looked suspiciously like Nat’s handwriting. He glared at her across the table, but she just raised her glass and smirked at him. “Go on,” she mouthed.

What the hell, it was Christmas, wasn’t it?

Clint leaned in. _Just followin’ instructions._

It was supposed to be a joke, or a challenge, or a dare. But Phil’s tongue darted out and brushed over his lips, like he was preparing to say something, or--

He was kissing Clint.

Like, how had that happened? Clint hadn’t even fully made up his mind to do it, and then Phil’s lips covered his. He wasn’t gentle or hesitant or slow. His mouth made a meal of Clint’s lips, and it was too urgent, too necessary, to be anything other than full of desperate longing. Like Phil thought he might only have one chance and was determined to make the most of it. His kiss was like a starving man suddenly presented with a feast.

There was nothing for it, after that; the general razzing, Sam making noises like he was hurling (Really, Sam? Really?) and Nat’s sly little head tip that said _It’s about time._ Nothing for it but to get up from the table, offer Phil his hand, and go somewhere private to continue the conversation.

“Oh, come on,” Stark declared, “you can’t leave without having pie.”

“You know,” Clint said, not looking away from Phil, “I really think I _can._ ”


End file.
